The Burdens of Being So Darn Cute
by E. Daniel Boudreau

     It leaves me on the brink, I tell you. One of these days I'm just going to admit to the world that I've had enough of being too cute and kindly ask everyone to just pretend I'm not even there. It's gotten to be quite the distraction, let me tell you. Not that this is any new revelation, because, oooh my friend, that couldn't be further from the truth. I've been cute ever since I was in the womb. It's true. They showed me floating around up there on the ultrasound monitor and every single nurse in the room couldn't stop "oooh-ing" and "awww-ing". And the second I was born, it was like Elvis reincarnated. Actually, technically Elvis was still alive back then, but it was during those final bloated, sweaty years- so that doesn't really count.

     I can also say that once school started, I had the little paper planes soaring in my direction, each bearing the scribbled phone number of a different pretty girl- which was needless to say a little frustrating back in kindergarten when nobody could read or write. But it was the thought that counted, and I was certainly in everybody's thoughts. Even my teachers got soft around me- I never once got yelled at for being late, or for acting up in class. I could have set my desk on fire and released poisonous snakes from my backpack and nobody would say a word. Because one pouty lower lip and bright-eyed gaze would melt even the coldest of hearts.

     I know it doesn't sound like I have any right at all to complain, but
believe me- when you get to the point where you can't even walk down the street without causing every girl in sight to pass out, you'll know what I'm talking about. This attention only grew stronger as I got older, coasted my way through school and landed my first job, as a CEO of some big company. I don't even know which one it was- I just wandered into the wrong building one day, thinking it was the library, and there were all these businessmen standing in front of an elevator like they always do. One of them turned to me, started acting all creepy and asked me if I was the new CEO. I hadn't really heard the question, but I said yes anyways, and that was that. Before long, they had replaced their old logo with a big picture of my face. They even assigned uniforms to everybody that had pictures of me sitting in a big chair plastered on the back. And every Friday was no longer casual day- instead, everybody had to wear a mask with my face on it for the entire day. People were walking into photocopiers and watercoolers because the eye holes were too small.

     Now do you see what I'm talking about? It's a curse. I don't know what to do with myself. I try chain-smoking to ruin my soft, supple skin, but it doesn't work. I even tried getting plastic surgery once to make myself look more like a normal, non-cute person but the surgeon refused to, as he put it, "cut up your extremely cute face". In fact, he instead took a mold of my face and now offers to make anyone look like me for only $35,000.

     I've had enough of it frankly. I think I'll just move out to the country and raise dairy cows for a living. At least they won't make a big deal out of my cuteness. Hmm…better make it blind dairy cows, just to make sure.